


I'm Not Asking Questions, 'Cause Questions Have Answers

by frikey



Series: vamp!verse [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frikey/pseuds/frikey
Summary: In which Mikey has questions that he's almost too afraid to ask.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghoul_FunGhoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghoul_FunGhoul/gifts).



> A (late) present for [Marrissa](http://fangmouthiero.tumblr.com). Happy birthday!  
> Thank you to [Jordyn](http://twinkfrank.tumblr.com) and [Gi](http://vampyrefrnk.tumblr.com) for proofreading for me again, and reassuring me that this doesn't completely suck. Title comes from Highly Suspect. Enjoy. xo

The questions come later.

"So you're not allergic to garlic?" Mikey asks suddenly, speaking around a mouthful of cereal, as if it's only _just_ occurred to him that Frank's spent the last eleven months eating whatever the fuck he wants.

"Nah," Frank answers, "That's just a myth."

"Oh," Mikey says quietly, and he tilts his head to the side like he's thinking on it.

It's well past midnight, closer to one o'clock, actually, and they're sitting in the middle of the living room floor, half-naked, the only light in the apartment coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside and the television that's on in front of them, playing some cheesy Syfy movie about a mutant shark. _Mikey's favorite_ , Frank thinks. Mikey's balancing a bowl of Lucky Charms on his knee, his cheek resting against the palm of his free hand, and Frank also thinks Mikey's the cutest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. Even if he is about two point five seconds away from spilling milk all over himself.

"Yeah. You know what I _am_ allergic to, though?" Frank says as he swallows another bite of leftover pizza, "Shellfish."

"What? No way," Mikey exclaims, turning to look at Frank with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes way. I was allergic to it when I was still—you know, before. It seems to have carried over."

"That's so weird," Mikey says with a small shake of his head, "How does that even work? I mean, nothing else makes you sick, right? Like you can't catch a cold or anything?"

"Nope. Trust me, if I could catch a cold, I'd keep one. I used to be sick all the time."

"So weird," Mikey repeats quietly, and he stares at Frank for a long moment, a grin breaking out onto his face.

"What?" Frank asks, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"How old are you?" Mikey asks, his grin widening, "Really old? Like, three hundred or something?"

Frank chokes on his pizza crust. "No, Mikey, god. I'm forty-one."

"Forever frozen at twenty-six?"

"Yep. That's me," Frank deadpans, turning his head back towards the television, and Mikey is quiet for a while, finishing off his cereal and paying close attention to the mutant shark as it devours innocent beachgoers.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"What was it like—you know, before? What was your life like?" Mikey stumbles over his words, like they're trying desperately to stick to the back of his throat, but he gets them out nonetheless, and Frank drops his gaze to the floor.

"It was—it was pretty normal. There was nothing all that special about me, about my life," Frank begins, "I lived in the same town where I grew up. I was in a shitty punk band for awhile," He looks up at Mikey and gives him a smile, and Mikey grins back, "I smoked a lot of weed. Internalized a lot of anger, a lot of _misplaced_ anger. I didn't have much going for me, and I didn't know what I really wanted to do, and I was _bored_ , all the time. I felt like every day of my life had to be filled with something, I had to be going all the time, moving, playing, talking, doing _something_. I guess I never realized that what I had wasn't so bad after all."

"Do you miss it?" Mikey asks quietly, and Frank looks up at him again. Mikey's staring at the floor, concentrating hard, nervously picking at the hem of his sweatpants.

"Nah," Frank says without hesitation, and he unfolds his legs, stands up from the floor, offers Mikey his hand. Mikey takes it, lets Frank pull him up off the ground, and Frank kisses him. Soft and sweet. "Like I said, it was boring. Now I have this precious little artist of boyfriend, this gem of a job, everything I was missing before. Everything I never knew I needed."

"You're corny," Mikey says, but there's a small smile on his face and a blush coloring his cheeks. Frank kisses him again.

"Maybe," He offers, "But you'd never make it without me."

Mikey just smiles again and shakes his head, his hair cutting across his face as he does so. He bends over and picks his empty bowl up off the floor, gesturing towards the remote lying near the couch. "Turn off the TV, will you? I'm gonna get ready for bed."

"Yeah," Frank agrees, and he watches as Mikey disappears into the kitchen. He turns off the television, hears the sink running as the noise from the movie cuts off. Frank lays the remote on the table and trails into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching as Mikey rinses out his cereal bowl.

"What is it?" Frank asks, and Mikey startles, nearly dropping the bowl in the sink.

"What?" He responds, turning to look at Frank, and Frank's expression softens a bit.

"There's something else on your mind. I can tell. What is it?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," Mikey answers, but Frank gives him an _are you kidding me?_ look, and Mikey sighs. "It's just—I mean, you can—what all can you do? As a vampire? What are your, I don't know, abilities?"

"Well, what do you want to know, specifically?"

"I don't know. I just wanna separate fact from fiction, I guess. I mean, obviously, the garlic allergy is a myth. So is the thing about sunlight, because you go out in the sun all the time."

"Partially," Frank corrects, and at Mikey's raised eyebrow, continues, "The sun won't kill me, and my skin won't start to melt or anything if I come into direct contact with it, but I feel the heat more intensely than you do. It's like, when you're at the beach, and it's so hot it's like you can practically _feel_ your skin burning? That's how it feels to me all the time. And, as ridiculous as it sounds, I'm actually stronger at night. In the dark. The sun saps my energy."

Mikey bursts into laughter at that, the sound loud and bright in the midnight darkness of their apartment. "Oh my god, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard. You're like a walking stereotype."

"Shut up," Frank grumbles, but there's a small smile on his face, if only because Mikey seems to be entertained. "What else do you want to know?"

"Do you have to sleep?"

"No. I hardly ever do."

"Can you see your own reflection?"

"No. I do show up in pictures, though. Vampire physics don't make much sense."

"Do you have to be invited in?"

"Yes. I can be uninvited, too."

"Can you cross running water?"

"Yes. That's kind of a stupid myth."

"Okay, smart ass. Can you turn into a bat?"

"No, unfortunately. That would be so fucking cool, though, right?"

"Do you sparkle?"

"I hate you. Next question."

"Will a wooden stake kill you?"

"A wooden stake will kill anyone, Mikes."

"Are you immortal?"

"S'long as I'm smart. Meaning, no, I can't get sick. I'm immune to human ailments. Blood is the only real sustenance I need—I eat anyway because I like food—and my body can heal itself exceptionally well, but only if it has the proper chance to. A single bullet won't kill me, but multiple ones will, if they're not removed in time. A knife, a stake, anything through the heart will kill me. Not immediately, but in time."

"Good to know," Mikey comments, a smirk pulling at his lips, "The guide to killing your vampire boyfriend."

Frank laughs. "Yeah, I guess. But keep in mind that I _do_ have superhuman strength."

"Superhuman strength, huh?" Mikey says with another sarcastic raise of his eyebrow, "You're gonna have to test that out sometime."

"Trust me, it's tempting," Frank says quietly. He takes a slow, loping step forward, watching as Mikey steps back, his hips hitting the counter behind him. Frank slinks towards him, fitting his body against Mikey's, pinning him in place easily. "Every time you beg me to fuck you harder, every time you beg me to hold you down—it's _so_ tempting," Frank's mouth is on Mikey's throat in no time, sucking at a spot close to his jaw, his hands on Mikey's hips, and Mikey's fingers are pressed tight into Frank's back.

"Fuck," Mikey groans, tilting his head back to give Frank better access to the pale column of his throat, "Fuck, Frank, _god_ —"

"You're so needy," Frank grins, easily lifting Mikey off his feet and sliding him up onto the counter. Mikey's legs come up to wrap around Frank's waist. "It's so easy to get you worked up."

"Shut up." Mikey tries to sound commanding, but it comes out sounding more like a whine. Frank keeps sucking at his neck, leaving a trail of slow, wet kisses down to his collarbone.

"I have another question," Mikey gasps after a moment, and Frank hums an assent against his skin. "Do you feed on people?"

"What?" Frank asks, slightly taken aback by the question. He pulls away from Mikey a little, peels his eyes away from the bruises that are already forming on Mikey's throat and catches Mikey's gaze, holds it.

"Do you—you know—how do you get blood?" Mikey stutters, his face turning red, and he breaks eye contact with Frank to stare at a spot on the kitchen floor instead.

"I—no, I don't feed on people," Frank answers truthfully, "I haven't in a really, really long time. I have other ways of getting what I need. You don't have to worry about it, baby."

"But—but you said you're not feeding enough, and that's what's causing my nightmares, right? So—so you could just, you know, bite me, couldn't you? If you needed to?"

"No," Frank says, and he steps back like he's been shocked. Mikey's legs fall back against the counter.

"Why not? It's not like you're going to hurt me. I don't—"

"No, Mikey," Frank repeats, firmer this time, "I'm not—no. Don't even think about it."

"But I want you to," Mikey says, and Frank stares at him. He can tell Mikey's being serious, that he's one hundred percent sincere, and that's probably what bothers him the most about it.

"Nope. No way," Frank says, and he presses a quick kiss to Mikey's lips to quell any other arguments he might have. "C'mon, it's almost two AM. Let's go to bed."

Mikey grins. "Why? You don't have to sleep."

"No, but you do," Frank says, adding, "You little shit," under his breath.

"I heard that," Mikey says as he hops down from the counter and follows Frank out of the kitchen, flipping the light off as he goes.

"Good," Frank calls over his shoulder, giving Mikey a wide smile, "At least you know you're a huge pain in my ass."

"That's my job, dickhead," Mikey shoots back with a roll of his eyes. He's quiet for a moment, trailing behind Frank silently, but then he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, "Frank?"

"Yeah?" Frank responds, and he stops walking, turns around to face Mikey in the darkness of the hallway.

"There's—there's one more thing, and then I promise I'll stop asking stupid questions."

"Hey, they're not stupid," Frank says softly, trying and failing to catch Mikey's eye. Mikey's staring at an obscure spot on the wall. "This is a lot for you to process. What is it?"

"Can you, you know, influence people's moods? Affect the way they're feeling and all that? Or is that just another myth?"

"No. It's not a myth," Frank says quietly, and something heavy settles in his gut. He has an idea of where this conversation is headed. "But I've never—"

"You've never done it to me?" Mikey asks, and something in his voice is sad, tinted with desperation.

"No, Mikey. Never."

"And you never will, right?"

"No. Not unless you ask me to."

"You promise?" Mikey asks, still staring at the wall. "You promise me?"

"I promise you, Mikes."

"Good," Mikey says, exhaling a long, slow breath, "Because this is a part of me, you know? Being fucking—screwed up. Having a shitty brain. It's a part of me, and I have to deal with it. I can't run away from it. And I know it's probably the most annoying thing in the world to you, I know I'm the biggest fucking burden, but—"

"It's not," Frank interrupts. He reaches out and pushes Mikey's hair away from his face, keeps him from hiding behind it, makes him look up and listen to what Frank's trying to tell him. " _You're_ not, Mikey, I promise you. I love you so much, you have no goddamn idea. I would do anything in the world for you, anything in the world to take care of you. Don't talk about yourself like that. Alright?"

"Yeah. Okay," Mikey says softly, and Frank stands on his tiptoes to kiss Mikey's forehead. "I love you too, by the way."

"I know," Frank smiles, and Mikey offers up a small, weak smile in return. Frank can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. "Come on, you need to get some sleep. You're gonna be a zombie tomorrow."

"You know, I was gonna make a joke," Mikey says around a yawn, and Frank rolls his eyes affectionately as he guides Mikey towards their bed, "Probably reference The Walking Dead. Make a pun about us both being undead—you know, ‘cause—"

"‘Cause I'm a vampire?" Frank finishes, and Mikey nods, beaming despite himself, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Very funny. Now go to sleep, you little shit."

"You're rude," Mikey mumbles, but he curls up against Frank nonetheless, wraps around him like a tall, pale, gangly-limbed spider. Frank moves his hand up to play with Mikey's hair, and Mikey's asleep before he knows it, his head resting on Frank's chest.

For the first time in his life, Frank is truly happy.


End file.
